“I couldn’t be with anyone but you, sweet, perfect woman.”
Seconds later the Dragons landed hard in the middle of Perthewey. The town’s residents were already making their way out of doors to take in the sight, their faces tight with concern as four enormous déors displayed themselves.
Amara leapt off Minach’s back to address the growing crowd.
“There is a threat heading your way,” she announced loudly, turning in a slow circle to take them all in with her serious gaze. “The four Dragons will do their best to protect the town. The Dire Wolves are also on their way. But your pack would be wise to stand your ground. We will do what we can, but there are Forsaken coming, as well as one very angry Dragon. Stay back until you’re instructed to move.”
She looked around at the large circle of townspeople that had formed around them. Caitlin and her sister Emma stood among them, looking frightened and confused as the former clutched her belly, her eyes bright with her Wolf’s presence.
“Caitlin,” Amara said, “Go home and lock yourself in. Please, for your child’s sake.”
The young woman nodded and slipped away, her sister’s eyes following her.
“The rest of you—anyone who’s capable, be ready for a fight. If it comes to a full-on battle, show no mercy to the Forsaken. As you know, they will show you little in the way of kindness.”
Amara moved to Minach’s side, her eyes turned to the sky. She closed them for a moment, seeking another vision, another predictor of things to come. This time, she saw the looming confrontation: Tryst’s blood-red Dragon. Men and women with blades, Forsaken changed into their sleek déors.
She sought an answer, waited for some internal voice to tell her what to do. But at first no answer came.
Then she saw it. Her elegant, tall grey Wolf, standing at the centre of everything, the Dragons floating in the air above her. But it wasn’t the Dragons or the Dire Wolves who would save the town from ruin.
It would be up to her.
Commander
At the centre of Perthewey’s High Street was a small square that the town’s population used as a marketplace on weekends. Today, though, it was empty, a vast open expanse of cobblestone and dry dirt. The Wolves cowered about its perimeter in dark corners and alleyways, waiting in horror for the onslaught that was to come.
Four enormous, magnificent Dragons hovered in the air above, watching, waiting for the small army’s arrival.
Amara stood at the town square’s centre, defenceless and alone, but unafraid. Her visions had told her all that she needed to know. She understood now what she needed to do, that this day would depend not on the Dire Wolves, the Perthewey Wolf pack or even the Dragons.
It was up to her alone to win this, the last battle with the Red Dragon. The last war against the Forsaken.
Minach hung in the air above her, watchful, protective and strong. He and his Guild now possessed a weapon that would help them in any battle. The four of them were more powerful than even a thousand Forsaken. Nevertheless, Amara knew that he’d rather have her with him, that he didn’t like seeing her so vulnerable down below.
“I’m not sure I’m mad about this idea of yours,” his voice echoed through her mind as she stood in wait. “I’d feel better if you were on my back, my beauty.”
Amara smiled to herself and responded silently. Now that she and Minach had bonded, their link complete, speaking was no longer a necessity. “I know. Just…trust me. I’ve died once already; surely the odds of it happening again are slim to none.”
“Don’t even speak of such things, or I’ll have to give you a spanking later.”
“Promises, promises.”
She looked up at his Dragon and winked. In response, Minach pushed a puff of smoke out through his nostrils.
Somewhere in the distance a sustained howl sounded, drawing Amara’s focus to more serious matters. Within seconds, twenty or so Dire Wolves had stepped into the square from the direction of Trekilling, and were now standing like a long line of soldiers set to go to war. Doric’s large black form approached Amara and shifted, the man nodding his head reverently towards her. “I told you your Wolf would return,” he said. “I had a good feeling about your future.”
“You were right,” she replied. “My Wolf is stronger than ever.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m far better at fighting Forsaken in my déor.” Doric shifted again, turning to face away from her. Without a word, he and the other Dire Wolves, larger than shire horses, formed a large circle around Amara, teeth bared as they awaited the enemy.
Silence hung like a shadow over the town for what felt like an hour. The creatures inhabiting its dark places stood in wait, the Dragons ever watchful overhead. Lyre and Minach remained fixed in place, hovering, two ice-blue déors who all but blended into the clouds above. Occasionally Aegis and Ashlyn moved in circles around them, searching with keen eyes for the route that the army would take to get into town.
“I see them. North-east end,” said Ashlyn after a time. “They’re coming down the street in a solid line. Tryst is following low in the sky, directing them.”
Amara turned to those gathered around the square and repeated the words that Ashlyn’s Dragon had said so that everyone around her could hear. The Wolves who’d hung back in shadow moved close now, forming a wall behind the much larger Dire Wolves to face towards the northeast corner of town.
“Move only on my signal,” Amara commanded, her eyes glowing bright despite the dark cover of cloud. She stood among the shifters like a small, powerful commander ready to send her troops to battle.
Before long, dark silhouettes had begun to slip forward from the other end of the small town. Then a mass of figures advanced, some moving with a lithe elegance, others loping with the uneven gait of the Lapsed. Some were already shifted into their déors, others preferred to take on the pallid form of a tall, lean Forsaken. They’d come to fight with strength, speed, razor-sharp teeth. They’d come for a grim reward; the blood of many Wolf shifters was no doubt what Tryst had promised them.
The advancing army stopped a hundred feet or so in front of Amara, staring silently in her direction. From above, a shadow descended to land in the street before them. The Red Dragon had arrived at last.
Almost immediately, Tryst’s human form appeared, tall and elegant, wrapped in a long robe of red silk. She stepped towards Amara, her bright eyes piercing and angry.
“You should not have survived our little altercation, Enlightened,” she said. “But I suppose this means I’ll get to kill you all over again.”
Amara could feel the Dire Wolves around her tensing with apprehension. Low growls rumbled through the air, warning the Dragon shifter that they wouldn’t let her off easily if she tried anything.
From somewhere above, Minach’s voice worked its way into Amara’s mind.
“Let me at her,” he said. “Please, my love. If she touches you…”
“Have faith in me, Minach. I know what I’m doing.”
Amara held up a hand, telling the others to wait as she locked Tryst in her gaze.
“I did survive, Tryst,” she said, “and in fact, I’m thriving.” With the words she stepped forward, continuing to stride until she’d walked around the confused shifter, looking instead to the Red Dragon’s followers. Hundreds of Lapsed and Forsaken stood staring at her, just as puzzled as their leader was.
“No doubt this woman has promised you a better life,” she shouted, projecting her voice through row upon row of enemies. “No doubt she’s told you that if you come here, take down the Dragons and steal away the Relics, the power will be yours.”
She studied their faces. They were listening, intent, but she could feel their bloodlust on the air. She could smell their hunger, which she knew all too well. The Forsaken were here to feed, the Lapsed were here to kill. They intended to take down the Wolves, to massacre the entire town’s population. Tryst had promised them a feast.
“
The Red Dragon hates you all, you know,” said Amara. She was taking a massive risk, and she knew it all too well. Behind her, the woman in red swung around, a look of rage etched on her face. “She hates what your kind—my kind—is. Unholy hybrids, she calls us. Abominations.”
She turned back to Tryst to narrow her eyes at her. The Dragon shifter took a step forward and pulled an arm free of her cloak, raising her hand over her head.
In her fist she held a Dragon bone blade.
No doubt it was the very weapon she’d used to kill Kliev and Duncan. Amara could envision it so clearly, the images so real, so painful. Tryst had spoken to the men quietly, earned their trust before lunging at them with her hidden dagger. She’d betrayed them to their deaths.
As she eyed the blade, the Enlightened braced herself, ready to shift, to run, to do whatever was necessary. Tryst would not touch her. Not now. Not ever again.
But she didn’t need to move. The Dragons overhead had already begun their onslaught, raining down streaks of flame that hit the ground between Amara and Tryst like steel rods. Each time Tryst tried to move, to get around the barrage, she was met with another spear of fire.
In a flash, Minach’s Dragon was on the woman in red, his enormous talons wrapping around her upper arms as she let out a shriek and dropped the knife to the ground with a loud clang. He tore her away from Amara, dropping her in the centre of the circle of Dire Wolves. Two of the shifters promptly grabbed her bloodied arms and yanked them behind her back.
“What are you waiting for?” Tryst shouted to her army. “These creatures have taken your leader! Attack the Enlightened!” A Dire Wolf slammed his palm over Tryst’s mouth, even as Amara stepped bravely towards the Forsaken.
She hoped to God that her plan would work. If it didn’t, she’d be dead in a matter of seconds.
“You could attack me,” she said as the Guild’s four Dragon shifters landed on either side of her, forming an exquisite line of defence between Tryst’s people and her own. “Or you could remember that you have no leader. You are not her servants, and nor have you ever been.”
“Why should we listen to you?” croaked a woman who stood a few feet away. “Who the hell are you?”
Amara turned her way and raised her chin. “I am an Enlightened. Like you, I was weak. I suffered from a dependence that was no choice of mine.” She looked each of her opponents in the eye as she spoke. “Like you, I suffered from a fate that was far beyond my control. But I’m here to tell you that at long last, we’ve found a cure. I’m here to tell you that if you want help, we will provide it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” asked another Forsaken, a tall, light-haired man with a long, diagonal scar stretching across his right cheek. He gestured to his fellow half-breeds. “There’s no cure for what ails any of us. We’re right fucked, and that’s the truth.”
“There is a cure, in fact,” said Amara, turning to face Minach’s Dragon, who stood next to her in wait. She stepped slowly towards him and lay a hand on his neck. “This is the cure,” she said, turning back to the crowd. “One drop of the blood of a Kindred will heal you. One drop will put the blood-seeker inside you to sleep. You will be able to rest at last, your cravings gone.”
“I don’t believe you,” the man snarled. “Why should I? This is a sodding trick. You’re trying to save your arses because you know you can’t possibly win a fight with the likes of us.” Murmurs of agreement crescendoed around him as the unrest made its way through the large crowd.
“It is!” Tryst shouted over the noise, having freed her face from behind the Dire Wolf shifter’s palm. “This woman is devious. She wants you to desert the cause. She wants you to abandon me and work for her.”
Amara moved towards the light-haired man. This was the most dangerous moment of all, she knew. This was the moment when she could lose her life. “What is your name?” she asked softly.
“Marko,” he said.
She turned to face Minach and raised an eyebrow. A split second later, he’d shifted into his human form. “You quite sure about this?” he asked her.
“No, not at all sure. But it’s our best chance,” she replied, offering up a nervous smile. “If we can help them, then we should. If we can’t, at least I know that we tried.”
Pulling her blade out of her sheath, Amara handed it to Minach, who pricked a fingertip with its sharp point.
“Marko,” said Amara, “Come here.”
The man stayed put, so she said it again. “You’re a Forsaken, yes? You suffer from the hunger as I did for so long?”
Marko nodded.
“Then come, drink. This is what you crave, is it not? Every Forsaken knows that the blood of a Dragon is nectar of the gods. If you don’t take it, I’m sure someone else would be all too happy to do so.”
The Forsaken advanced slowly, even as a sphere of blood formed on the pad of Minach’s finger. No doubt Marko was overwhelmed by disbelief; what kind of Dragon shifter would ever willingly let his kind sample their blood?
But Minach held out his hand, eyebrows raised as if to say, “Go on. Do it.”
Slowly, the man reached out his own hand and swiped the blood off Minach’s finger before drawing it to his lips.
As she watched him taste the substance, Amara tensed, waiting to see what would happen. If she was fortunate, the blood would have the same effect that it had on her.
Of course, the entire plan could backfire.
For at least ten seconds she held her breath in anticipation, watching Marko’s face.
And….nothing.
The Forsaken’s eyes were still dark, his skin pale. He looked at her, anger drawing itself over his face.
“This is bullshit,” he snarled. “A lie.” He stepped backwards, moving towards the front line of the enemy as he stared at her. “The Red Dragon was right; you’re a devious bitch.”
It was then that Amara smiled.
“Am I?” she asked.
Marko’s eyes had begun to change from a nearly black shade to light hazel, his cheeks glowing a healthy, extraordinary pink. Years seemed to shed from his face in a matter of seconds. Even his narrow body filled out, his chest expanding as he inhaled deep. “Do you not feel something now?” she said.
Marko froze in place, his hands reaching for his face. As he felt the heat of his own flesh he opened his eyes wide, his features contorting into an expression of wonder.
“It’s gone,” he breathed. “Gone.”
“What’s gone?” asked a woman who stood to his left. “What are you on about?”
“The craving. The hunger,” he said, laughing. “Gone.” He pivoted to face the woman, and as she looked into his eyes she gasped. One of her own had been healed.
“No! It’s impossible!” It was Tryst’s voice that pierced the air again. The Dire Wolves had locked her arms into a set of iron cuffs to prevent her from shifting, and a small circle of smaller Perthewey Wolves had positioned themselves around her to stand guard.
Amara ignored her pleas, focusing her attention on the army before her. They were the only ones who mattered now.
“My name is Amara, and I intend to help you all,” she called out. “If you do not wish to be cured of your illness, leave now and go back to your homes. If you wish for it, stay here, with us. We will see to it that your needs are met.”
“Listen, we haven’t discussed this,” Minach said quietly, leaning towards her. “I’m not entirely sure I have enough blood for all of them.”
“You may not,” said Aegis, who had landed and was stepping up next to him. “But between the four of us, I think we’ll do just fine.” Ashlyn and Lyre stood on the other side of the small group. They too had altered into their human forms.
“I concur,” signed Lyre, smiling. “I’d be only too happy to provide a good deal of blood if it would let me get back to my mate.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Amara, turning to the crowd. “We will help each of you, if called upon to do so.”
&
nbsp; The Forsaken did something incredible then. One by one, they knelt down in the street, their eyes fixed on Amara’s own. For the first time in their lives they’d found something they wanted more than blood. For the first time, they had the promise of a future.
Among them a number of Lapsed moved about, confused and scattered. Their kind was more animal than intellect. They were shifters who’d lost their humanity, the feral instincts of their inner animals their only guides in life.
Perhaps they were beyond help.
“I’m not sure there’s any hope for the Lapsed,” Amara said quietly, “but we can try. They won’t hurt us so long as no one commands them.”
Marko stepped forward, his eyes bright, his face looking decidedly human as he smiled at Amara. “What can I do?” he asked. Any semblance of anger had left him, a calm washed over his features.
“You’ve already helped more than I can say,” Amara replied. “Thank you for—”
A shrill, tormented cry interrupted her, drawing her attention in the direction of the place where Tryst had been standing. She spun around, looking to see what had could have happened.
“Oh, no!” she cried.
A brown Wolf from the Perthewey pack had lunged at the woman in red, tearing at her throat in one swift motion. The Dire Wolf shifters were trying to pull the creature off its victim, but they were too slow to react. By the time they’d taken hold of the assailant, Tryst had flopped, lifeless, to the ground, a puddle of blood rapidly forming around her limp body.
Rather than flee, the attacker shifted, turning to face in the direction of Amara and Minach. She had long brown hair, large, bright eyes, and a swollen belly.
“Oh God, Caitlin…” Minach said.
The young woman’s eyes were glowing blue as they so frequently did, but their colour was fading rapidly. She looked down at herself with a confused expression, as though her human side couldn’t understand what had happened.
Dragon's Curse: A Dragon Shifter Romance (Dragon Guild Chronicles Book 4) Page 17